


pieces of the puzzle don’t fit so i pound them into you

by Pixeled



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Coffin sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: Vincent cried Veld’s name, and the pieces of the puzzle fell away. They didn’t fit, but Veld pounded them into Vincent anyway like he could make them. Vincent had always been a beautiful mystery, and now it was no different.





	pieces of the puzzle don’t fit so i pound them into you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makoheadrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makoheadrush/gifts).

> Because I asked for a prompt, and when I got it, I could do nothing but deliver! 
> 
> This was written to Korn - Get Up! (feat. Skrillex)

Veld stared at the coffin, smoking his cigarette. He usually didn’t smoke inside, but fuck this drafty basement. He was lost in thought when the menthol smoldered to its filter. _Fuck filters_, Veld thought with distaste as he flicked it down, crunched it under his shiny black shoe to extinguish it. The cherry went out, the only light that was down here besides the naked bulb that was flickering above the coffin.

Okay, he had to admit he was curious about what was down here. A group of coffins, their lids pried off and nothing but bones piled in them, to be sure, but something was different about the central one. It was black lacquer, fancy and shiny, special. It stood out, and not just because the bulb was illuminating it like a fucking dramatic floodlight.

He walked over to it, prying the lid open. He was ready with his gun, just in case. He’d told the other Turks to fuck off, too, just in case there was something down here, a ghost from his past.

As he looked inside, Veld held a breath. No bones in this one. There was a body, sure, but it was intact. The inside of the coffin was a plush red velvet, and the body in question? Well. He looked _different _but he knew exactly who it was. The man was long and lean, covered in a red cloak which flowed around him, and black leather. His face was scrunched with worry and absolute torture. But it was smooth and pretty, just like it’d always been. He didn’t look a day older than when Veld had sent him away, although his hair was long and spread out artfully on the pillow cradling his head like an inky black beautiful mess.

Oh, how he wanted to punch that face, but also kiss it.

Yes, he knew who this was. It was Vincent Fucking Valentine, declared missing in action. Unofficially dead. Well, he didn’t _look _dead. He looked very much alive. Why he was as young as he was the day Veld sent him away, he didn’t know. Maybe it was some cruel joke. Vincent, who he’d spurned away, had become a source of guilt for Veld. Now he was here, right in front of his face. Time had marched on for Veld, dusting the hair around his temples gray. But not for Vincent.

Veld wanted answers.

“Wake up!” Veld shouted. It echoed in the cavernous basement. It was cold. Morgue cold. Veld knew because he’d been to a morgue more often than not, identifying bodies of both victims and Turks alike.

Vincent stirred, opening his crimson eyes slowly. A gauntleted excuse for a hand with gold talons rested over his stomach. So the bastard had lost his arm as well. They made a fine pair.

Vincent’s eyes were as beautiful as ever, his face relaxing somewhat. He didn’t look at Veld.

“Leave me alone,” Vincent said, which seemed somewhat a reflex. Whether he recognized Veld or not didn’t matter. “Go away. Please.”

“No. Tough shit. Get the fuck up. You’re coming with me.” Veld reached into the coffin, grabbed Vincent by the collar of his red cloak, and pulled, but talons curled around Veld’s fingers, pried them away with brutal strength. Veld held on, though. He wasn’t going to give up just because Vincent told him to go away. He’d told him to go away many times in the past. Veld never listened then—why would he start now? Verdot Fucking Dragoon didn’t listen to _anyone_.

Vincent seemed to focus on Veld then, as if he was really seeing him now.

“Let me sleep,” Vincent hissed.

“Shut the fuck up and get the fuck up,” Veld hissed right back. He slapped Vincent hard across the face. His face moved with the slap, turning his cheek. The paleness bloomed into splotchy pink. Vincent had always marked up so prettily. “Come on, Vince,” Veld said, softer.

“Why have you come?” Vincent asked. “You’re not really here . . . another nightmare, another sin. I . . . must sleep . . . atone for my sins . . .”

Veld knew Vincent had fucked the pretty scientist broad, knew she was batshit insane, had run off and encased herself in crystal. Vincent always liked them complicated.

Details of what happened were fuzzy, unclear. Veld had questioned Professor Hojo when he returned to Midgar all those years ago, but the scientist had told him to mind his business. Pieces of the puzzle were scattered and Veld couldn’t make sense of them. But suddenly they didn’t matter. Getting Vincent out of this creepy basement was his priority.

“Just. Come with me,” Veld said. “Don’t have to say anything, Vince. We can talk about it later.”

“No,” Vincent hissed. “I said to go away.”

“Look, I know I hurt you,” Veld said, moving his hand out to stroke his thumb over Vincent’s cheek. Vincent recoiled like he’d been burned. Veld peered in, moving his face above Vincent’s and kissed him hard and full of intent.

“You’re not here,” Vincent repeated, his eyes welling with unshed tears. Veld licked them away and kissed Vincent again, this time sweeter—a mockery of gentleness he didn’t really have in him.

“I’m here, Vince. I won’t leave you again.”

“You’re a liar,” Vincent said against Veld’s mouth, tears slipping into his raven black hair.

Veld kept kissing him, climbing into the coffin above Vincent. He wished he could say he did weirder things, but this was up there. Making out with a (presumed) dead man in a coffin? Strange.

“I’m here,” Veld promised. “You stupid shit.” And then he was undoing belts and buckles, thigh moving between Vincent’s to grind there. Vincent responded by shuddering and moving up against Veld.

Veld stripped him like he was unwrapping something holy. It’d always been like this with Vincent, like he was fated to always feel like he was taking everything from the man. When he was naked, Veld undid his own pants and pressed his fingers against Vincent’s mouth. To his credit, Vincent took those fingers into his mouth like he’d always done. When he coated them enough, Veld slapped Vincent’s other cheek. He made him suck his fingers again and gag on them for good measure.

It was rough when he entered Vincent, fucking him like he always belonged there. Because he did. Even when he sent him away, he’d always been Veld’s.

Vincent cried Veld’s name, and the pieces of the puzzle fell away. They didn’t fit, but Veld pounded them into Vincent anyway like he could _make _them. Vincent had always been a beautiful mystery, and now it was no different.

Vincent was shuddering against Veld, moving against him, his hips canting up, their breaths loud in the old basement of Shinra manor.

Veld would _make _him come, and when he did, Vincent shuddered like he was falling apart, because he _was_. Veld’s pulse itched inside like it was a scratch he’d finally been able to rip apart. He came alive in Vincent.

In the end, Vincent told Veld to go away over and over even as Veld came inside him. Veld told him, certain as ever, that he was _his_. He even believed it.

But he did leave in the end. But not before making Vincent know he would come back for him.


End file.
